Lincoln: The Experience - Day 0 - What is Love?

5/2/14

Aboard United 1422, En Route LGA-ORD

Philosophy is the love of wisdom, and wisdom is all well and good, but it needs to be useful.  For a large percentage of the population, there is one decision you make in life that matters for more than every other decision you make.  It is the decision of whom you marry.  To me, for the past 15 or so months, the most important aspect of philosophy has been the study of love.  Before I get married, before I even think about getting married, I need to have love so well defined that I will not hesitate for a moment when I find it.  Some people may argue that love cannot be defined, that love is irrational, even that love does not exist.  I reject those arguments and refuse to offer them any kind of validation.  Last night, Amelia (a very pretty girl from my philosophy class whom I fancy myself to love when I’m toasted enough and quickly remember how irrational that love would be when I sober up), called me a pure rationalist.  She meant it half as an insult, but I have never been so complimented.

The blog is called the Travelling Philosopher, which means that the philosophy needs to be restricted to travel days, which can include Day 0.  I will allow this line of discourse, since we discussed it a little at work this morning.  The basic argument from last night had been whether you (should) love someone for who they are or what they are.  I explained my argument as my rational approach to love.  To love is to value.  I love someone because I respect them, because we share values, because they embody what I value.  All of that is well in good.  I hold X, Y, and Z as my primary values.  I meet someone who meets those values.  We fall in love and get married.  Sounds wonderful.  Then, I meet someone who exemplifies X, Y, and Z even more so than my wife, and she also has W.  I have no arrangement with my wife to engage in any kind of extra-marital affairs.  To pursue this new women would be to deceive my wife, whom I love and respect.  Where is the rationality there?

The solution I had proposed was that I gave my commitment to my wife, that I hold honor and commitment as primary values that surpass the difference in how the new woman exemplifies W, X, Y, and Z.  I know people who have not placed honor and commitment as a primary value, along with people who have been on the other side of the equation.  However, they are people who chose sex over love.

When I woke up, I hurriedly packed, forgoing the suitcase and just shoving the necessary clothes and tobacco products into my computer bag and sleep machine bag.  When I showed up at work, I explained the debate we had been having last night.  The first response was that, at our age, the better debate would be the difference between love and lust.  I explained that we did that debate but that we first needed to figure out what love was before we could differentiate from lust.  When I explained to him my aforementioned views on loving someone for what they are and the apparent paradox it created, he came up with a brilliant reply.  He said that you have a history and a familiarity with that person, which trumps the possible better values of the new women.  If you have started a family together, even more so.  He is not a philosopher.  He is an architect with people skills that I could never hope to achieve.  It made perfect sense.  It made my resolution of the paradox no less valid, but it was a fascinating answer that none of us so-called philosophers had considered.  If you asked me 10 years ago what I was, I would have said a mathematician.  For most of the past decade, it would be an engineer.  Now, the answer is a philosopher.  That’s how I define myself.  Sure I have mathematical skills were once empirically measured at one-in-a-million, and I can create great wealth with my capacity to think, but my true passion lies in philosophizing.  There’s just no money in philosophy.

I will not discuss the love versus lust debate, as that is far beyond the scope of the Travelogue.  If any of my readers wish to engage in that debate, they know how to reach me.  I am saying that love is the most important aspect of philosophy to me, and it will be thoroughly explored in this entry.  The second most important aspect, freedom, will be perfectly within the scope of tomorrow’s entry, as I tour the Lincoln historic sites.  I think anyone who knows my philosophy understands, even if they don’t agree with, how I define love.  It is a purely rational desire, the greatest reward for the mutual respect and shared values we enjoy with another human being.  Whether it a girlfriend, a friend, or a boss, I look for the same thing.  With a girlfriend, there also needs to be a physical attraction (or lack of repulsion).  With a friend, shared interests.  With a boss, a professional working relationship.  However, the core is the same.  I define respect in the same way.

Lori, my co-worker who had engaged in this morning’s conversation with Andrew and I, asked me pointedly what I consider those values.  I answered intelligence first and foremost.  In fact, I think maybe 60-70% of my emotional attraction would be based on intelligence.  In intelligence, I also include rational thought process in addition to raw intelligence.  I know people who are extremely intelligent but fail to possess that rational thought capacity, and I find that an unattractive quality.  I also know people who are the opposite, and I think I find that more attractive.  So, then, maybe we have 40% rational thought process and 25% raw intelligence.  Where then is the other 35%?  Moral values would probably make up the bulk of the balance, maybe another 25% there.  After that, the remaining 10% would be what I call opinions.  Putting yourself (and those about whom you choose to care) first would a moral value.  Your position on government spending would be an opinion.  I would be far more interested in an Objectivist who voted Democrat than a Libertarian who did not live up to said Objectivist values.  These numbers are off the top of my head and cannot be considered any kind of formula upon which I could build a relationship.  I will now pause for dinner and continue this line of discourse, along with the rest of Day 0 afterwards.

Without making it a numbers game, we have established that I consider rational thought process to be my alpha characteristic, the most important thing I can find in someone, anyone.  Everything else flows from that.  My beta (or primary) values are intelligence (really a characteristic) and moral values.  There are far too many moral values to count.  Then, there are the gammas, the opinions and interests, again, too many to count.  Do I value someone who thinks that private industry can better construct infrastructure above someone who will smoke a cigar with me?  Do I value someone who prefers to travel north than south above someone who wants to abolish all forms of government welfare?  These are all good questions, but they pale in comparison to what I call the alpha question.  Can I engage with a rational discussion or debate with her about any issue?  Is she the person with whom I want to sit at the dinner table for the rest of my life?  Is she the person whom I went to help let me kids discover to how think for themselves?  There are all reformulations of the same question, and they so trump her ability to solve a differential equation or her willingness to always put herself (and the people about whom she has chosen to care) first.  Of course, I want someone who not only can engage in that rational debate, but can also outsmart me from time to time and who shares my moral values.  I also want someone who views the world in the same way I do and likes doing the same things.  Reader, I challenge you to tell me how a pretty a face or a “nice rack” compares in the slightest to the ideal I have spent close to the past hour describing.  I challenge you to tell me how feeling some kind of irrational, unexplainable love for someone can match this ideal.  It cannot, and I cannot continue any further along this line of thought.  If anyone is interested in continuing this debate with me, feel free to do so in any form, any time.  It is the debate I have spent the past 15 months preparing, and I am absolutely confident in my ability to defend.  Now, I just need to put it into practice.

This trip is a very minimalist trip.  I have all the sites memorized, and I did not feel a need to prepare an itinerary (or even pack a suitcase).  I had all my information prepared, and I slowly printed it out one piece at a time.  I checked in to my flight, saw that I could upgrade to first class for a very modest fee, and I did so.  Totally worth it.  I arranged for a car to pick me up at the cigar store, giving them the number of the cigar store.  I met my mother at Hop Won for my traditional pre-departure meal.  She spent the entirety of the meal complaining about the intricacies of her company retreat.  I didn’t really care, but I listened intently, not just because I was getting a free meal out of it.  I often use my parent’s relationship as an example in debates on love.  I have come to realize just how rare and special that relationship is.  People either don’t believe me when I describe it, or they call it out as an exception.  I don’t have any Oedipal Complex, and my mother exhibits gross flaws in her rational thought processes, not to say she is unintelligent, but I am not afraid to admit that I want what my parents have.

My father, who was the ultimate Objectivist for decades in the way he led his business, did not make the same choices in his personal life.  He had too much Nathaniel Branden in him and not enough Ayn Rand, too much of the fake Francisco D’Anconia and not enough of the real one.  I will not explain these analogies and refer my reader to “Atlas Shrugged” and “The Passion of Ayn Rand.”  That is what allows him to get along with someone is not Dagny Taggart, who does not embody Objectivist beliefs.  They have different core values than I do, but they share those core values.  That is what matters.  That is why I am willing to listen to her go on, not because she is my mother, not because she is buying me lunch, not because I find it interesting, but because I find analyzing what she values to be profitable.  That is not to say I disagree with her opinions, but we have different core values.  That’s okay.  As I mentioned, I am not looking for my mother, but rather someone with whom I can have the same relationship my parents have.

I went back to work, got caught up on what needed to be done before the end of the week, and then tackled a very large hospital project for which we had physical drawings.  The manager of the hospital division, someone who has known me since before I was born, my father’s most trusted employee, and the lifeblood of the organization for 30 years, give or take, had marked up the drawings.  I give him that long list because I want to emphasize how much I value his opinion.  He has my absolute respect when it comes to this business.  In a previous entry, I mentioned about blind judgment and listed a few people who had earned that from me.  When it comes to things like this, he falls in this list.  It’s ironic, since, more often than not, he defers to me on these matters.  That was the mindset with which I reviewed the roll of drawings he had marked up.  I looked through all of them and got a handle on the project.  I went to look at our electronic folder and saw that there was a link to an electronic set of drawings, which I downloaded.  I wasn’t sure how long it would take, so I went to the bank to get some cash for my trip.

I had set myself a budget for expenses and, allowing to use my card for gas and the hotels, I withdraw the rest in cash, knowing I would want to buy a couple of pipes.  The first ATM did not have large bills for that withdrawal, so I tried another one.  I got an error message, tried again, and then was able to make my withdrawal.  I got back to the office, and the drawings were nowhere near ready.  I went on with my work, finishing up what needed to be done today before leaving.

I got to the cigar store, where three of the regulars were waiting outside, and ran across the street.  I asked if they weren’t allowed to smoke inside since it wasn’t quite 6PM.  They said that they had started earlier and stayed outside since it was so nice.  Hassan, with whom I had been planning to trade, was not there, so I lit up a Cohiba.  Jimmy, knowing I was holding more, tried to grab my cigars from me, but I was too quick.  I grabbed a Davidoff Nic Toro and asked him for a tin of tobacco.  He tried again to get the cigars, roughhousing a little.  It wasn’t malicious, but it wasn’t benevolent either.  It was just Jimmy being Jimmy.  I managed to protect the Cubans, and we all went back inside.  It was a regular Friday evening at the cigar store, and I got a couple of texts from United.  The first text said that my gate was changed.  I pretended to be upset.  Then I got a text that actually was upsetting.  My flight was delayed by 30 minutes.  With a 3-hour drive to Springfield waiting for me at O’Hare, that was not a good thing.  I’d manage but not happily.

I finished my cigar and then they got the call I had been anticipating.  The car service called the cigar store, but the guy had a bad accent and Charles, the manager, barely understood.  I went outside, but the car was not there.  It came around, and I practically had to chase it down to get it to stop.  His potential tip went way down.  The ride was unadventurous, and we soon arrived at LGA.  I was paying with my debit card, and I had to add a tip.  He then said 4 (or maybe 3) words that cut his tip even more and now might have a meaning I did not realize at the time.  “Don’t be (a) cheapskate.”  I tipped him about 15%.  It wasn’t much, but the buttons were for 20%, 25%, 30%.  He seemed very sketchy about it, but I didn’t think anything about it at the time.

I got my boarding pass and made my way through security.  Sometimes I like to be the arrogant business traveler.  Today I was the arrogant business traveler.  Finishing my text before I showed my boarding pass and ID to the TSA agent, taking my time at security, not making eye contact or greeting anyone.  I was not holding up anyone behind me, but there was no denying my arrogance.  There was an issue with my bags.  It was the water bottle.  I had forgotten to empty it.  I asked if I could drink/empty it and then rerun the bag?  No.  Could they empty it?  No.  I did my best to consume my furor with the bureaucratic procedures.  He also unpacked the main compartment of my bag and refused to let me repack it.  I had to go through the entire security process again, from the very beginning where I first showed my boarding pass, stopping to repack my bag along the way.  Meanwhile, they carried my water bottle separately like it was something dangerous.  Remembering what at Kennedy last January, I watched it like a hawk.  I went through security again with no issue, refilled my water bottle, took a much needed U, and headed to my gate.  I tried to get some work done, but the connection was shitty.  I tried to read Les Miz, but I couldn’t focus for more than a chapter.  I then checked my bank account, and was shocked to see how low it was.  I checked to see where the missing money went.  We are about to land, so I need to close, and I will explain what happened to the missing money when I get to Springfield.

Springfield, Illinois

It is 3AM back in New York, and, just as last night, I am up writing some kind of journal and looking at 4 hours of sleep or less.  Whatever possessed me to think that a night have heavy drinking would be a good precursor to a night where I would have to drive 3-hours after a flight was not my rational thought processes.  I had told Ryan that I was up for anything, so long as I didn’t miss my flight to Chicago.  I just completely forgot to calculate for the drive.  Alas, here I am in the capital of Illinois, staring out at the Capitol building, as I puff on a very nice cigar, smoking away all of the stresses of the past 7 hours.  I closed on a cliffhanger, noting that a large amount of money was missing from my bank account.  The culprit was 7 ATM withdrawals from the Dominican Republic.  I knew that Citibank would reimburse me for the fraudulent charges, but I also knew that I would be in a serious cash crisis.  I had my cash budget for souvenirs and pipes and miscellaneous expenditures, but my credit card intentionally has a very low limit, barely enough to cover the hotels and gas.  I knew that, once I called Citibank, they would cancel my card, and I would not have time to stop by a Citibank branch during tomorrow’s Munich Run (Lincoln Run?), and I did not expect the banks to be open on Sunday.  I bit the bullet and called Citibank.  They sorted everything out and asked if I would be willing to insist in a criminal investigation against the culprit?  Absolutely.  They asked if I could think I have anyone who could have done it.  Plenty of people might have access to my debit card number, but I could not think of anyone who might know my PIN.  It is a very secure number, something that no one could guess.  I thought back to the earlier withdrawal, thinking perhaps that glitch was not quite a glitch, but that was at Citibank.  If that was the issue, they would sort it out.

After I hung up, I then thought back to the shady driver, but he would not have had my PIN.  I can only imagine someone watched over my shoulder or with a camera or something, but I am always very mindful of that, entering my pin with all four fingers and moving them randomly to confuse any onlookers.  I went back to my seat and prepared for takeoff.  I think I am becoming addicted to flying first class, which is a very expensive habit, one that would seriously eat up my travel budget, even if I were able to constantly upgrade at this discounted rate.  I had a Bacardi silver as we waited to take off.  The minute we were in the air, I started my entry, which took the entire flight, only pausing to eat.

We landed, and I made my way to the rental car shuttle.  When I got outside, I saw a Hertz shuttle, so I ran after it, and he waived me away.  Apparently, the stop was a little ahead, and he gave me a dirty look when I got on at the stop.  Then, this crazy woman and her husband got on.  The first thing she said was that she wasn’t going to give the driver that much of a hard time but that it would be a lot more environmentally friendly if the rental companies shared buses.  Reader, you will notice that I am the type of person who says the things people often think but do not say.  I asked her if she really thought the bus driver, who was ignoring her, had any control over that and told her to take it up with the City of Chicago.  She said that the City of Houston had figured it out.  I told her to get their mayors to talk to each other, which she said was impossible since they were of opposite political parties.  A bit later, the woman said to her husband to pay attention to her and stop using his phone.  If he didn’t, she would embarrass him.  He said exactly what I would have imagined my grandfather saying: “You already are.”  Next thing I knew, she was lying down in the aisle of the bus.  Hilarity ensued.

I got to my car, a beautiful, black 2014 Chevy Impala with 61 miles on it.  I looked very much forward to breaking it in.  I put on the 2000s channel, realizing that I had forgotten my Avril Lavigne CD at the office, and got the GPS set up.  It would be 3 hours to Springfield, and I already felt spent.  I lit up my Davidoff Nic Toro as soon as I left the rental car facility, and I was on my way.  As I was finishing the cigar, one of my favorite songs came on, “1000 Miles.”  I was refreshed and awake. I put on cruise control for 13 mph above the speed limit.  I had one of my Atkins meal bars and lit up an Avo from my new box after about 30 minutes with just over an hour to the destination.  I took a sip of water, and I saw a cop car sitting at the median.  I put my foot on the brakes, but it was too little too late.  He started to follow me.  I kept it below the speed limit, but he put on the sirens.  The whole process took about 10 minutes, and the Avo kept me calm.  I was most upset that my streak was over.  9 months with no accidents, no real tickets.  The fine was modest, and I was glad I got clocked at 82 in a 70 rather than going 100.

I was awakened and refreshed from that experience, but that did not last.  With less than 30 minutes to my destination, I felt that I was falling asleep.  I tried every trick in the book to keep myself awake, and, then I saw it.  The Springfield population sign.  I was heartened.  A few more minutes in town, and I was at the hotel.  I requested a smoking room with a view of the Capitol.  He said it was one or the other, and he couldn’t even guarantee the view with a non-smoking room.  I chose the smoking room and went to park the car in a garage around the corner.  When I got to the room, sure enough, it had a nice view of the Capitol, the perfect view for me to write this entry.  I settled in, changed, lit up a Padron, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will close and publish after bringing up one revelation I had during the drive.  I would be far more interested in someone who can rationally and fully defend the opposite side of an issue than someone who would blindly agree with my side of it.